"Roses—in England—are, of course, extremely rare."
"Dimbie," I said, "if you mock me again I shall——"
"Kiss me, sweetheart," and he held his face to mine.
"I shall not kiss you until you promise faithfully you will not transplant me to another garden. I—I don't want to go yet awhile, Dimbie."
"But what shall we do with our money? There is nothing to spend it on here," he argued.
"Oh, I could soon run through it, given the opportunity. I should first of all buy new shoes for Amelia—lovely, respectable, black, kid shoes, with neat bows and low heels."
"Would they cost seven and sixpence?" he asked ironically.
"Quite," I returned gravely.
He walked up and down the lawn impatiently.
"But tell me why," he said after a time, standing still in front of me, "why, Marguerite, my poor white daisy, you are so anxious to remain here?"